Sugar and Spice
by Lawliet Holmes
Summary: Sherlock is starting to sweat about the Moriarty threat, but what happens when the man himself comes for another visit? Jimlock, oneshot, T for language and sex references. Enjoy, peeps. Please rate and review, and if I get lots of lovely comments I will write more. Prompts are welcome


Sherlock Holmes sat back on the comfortable armchair in the corner of the living room of 221B Baker Street, violin thrown haphazardly over one knee, scraping dissonantly at the strings with his bow. John was out at his girlfriend's, which was a good thing considering the fact that he would probably try to shoot the visitor he was expecting.

_IOU._

The letters kept running in and out of Sherlock's head, teasing him. Taunting him. What could they possibly mean?

Obviously it was something to do with revenge; that much was obvious, although what he had done to invoke such revenge was beyond him. But what could he possibly have meant. And all those references to fairy-tales… for once, Sherlock's brilliant mind was flabbergasted. James Moriarty was the one person he couldn't read like a book. The one person who he suspected might possibly be smarter than him. And that thought scared him.

Steps creaking, light footsteps, pressure indicated average height, walking pace suggested careful ascent. Pressure slid from balls of the feet to the heel fairly slowly; sound indicated hard-soled leather shoes.

Sherlock brought his violin up to the standard position, chin resting on the pad, and with a flourish started playing the 5th Caprice by Paganini. One of the most technically difficult pieces in the world.

The door slowly opened, and Sherlock didn't bother looking up; only one person would bother ascending the stairs like that.

"Paganini's 5th Caprice", said that familiar, drawling voice that still sent shivers down Sherlock's spine.

"Did you know that Paganini used to file down the strings of his violin so that they would break during his performances? That way he could show off by playing the whole melody on one string."

The slow, lazy footsteps walked closer, and Sherlock heard a quiet thud; an apple being thrown into the air and caught. They were still on the side from yesterday.

"People accused Paganini of selling his soul do the devil in order to get his level of skill. There was no way that one man could be so clever without unnatural help. It's funny how those attitudes still exist today. Nobody likes to be made to look like a fool by one man of prodigious talent."

Sherlock didn't stop playing, but inside his mind he smiled; so that was Moriarty's game. A clue. IOU… Moriarty was telling him that nobody wanted to believe that he was as clever as he seemed. Therefore, the plan would be to disgrace him. Make him look like a fake. It was a beautiful plan. All that remained was for Sherlock to find out how he intended to do it.

He finished the piece with a tricky run up the neck, and put the violin down on the side, looking up and smiling.

"James Moriarty", he said, sighing with what sounded like contentment.

"I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

The consulting criminal sat down in a chair opposite his nemesis, biting deep into the apple.

"I thought there'd be tea", he said, sounding disappointed.

Sherlock chuckled.

"Out of teabags, I'm afraid. Dr Watson should be back in a few hours, but somehow I think he'd be more likely to throw the kettle at you than make you a brew."

James smiled slightly.

"Yes, he's like a dog, isn't he? I really should get my own… but they're so mind-numbingly ordinary. Not like you; you're me. But you're my good angel."

He laughed.

"It's like having two little people on my shoulder. Skin the man. Don't skin the man. No, skin him. No, it's wrong of you. Skin him…"

He rolled his eyes and threw the apple into the kitchen. It landed in the bin with a dull thud.

Sherlock folded one leg over the other.

"So why are you here?"

Moriarty shrugged.

"Do I need a reason? The dog's been put out, your Mrs Hudson's on a date with a man with three wives and a husband, and I've got you all to myself."

He paused, smiling lazily.

"I know your secret, Sherlock Holmes. I know what you don't tell anybody. I know why you hate your brother, and why you disgust him."

He chuckled.

"And I know why you won't tell John."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Really? And what's that? What secret am I hiding?"

James Moriarty stood up, walking over, and bent down, putting his mouth to Sherlock's ear.

"Homo", he said in that sing-song, I'm-a-crazy-gay-evil-genius voice.

Sherlock's mouth tightened slightly, but other than that he gave no sign of annoyance.

"Very good, James", he said, in an unusually flat voice.

"And how on earth did you guess."

Moriarty laughed and stepped backwards, spreading his arms wide.

"You're me, Sherlock! I know you better than you know you. The signs are there; that cold, oh-so-emotionless face you put on for John, that awkward bit in the café… that was delicious; I laughed so hard. 'You know, I consider myself married to my work…' You're in love with your pet doctor! It's brilliant."

James flopped back down into the seat.

"But do you want to know my little secret?"

Sherlock smirked.

"Let me guess. You fancy John too?"

Moriarty shook his head like a child.

"Nope. I fancy you, Sherlock Holmes. Yes, you're my… arch enemy, and all that, but still… it's amazing, isn't it? That we're made for each other. Cause we're the same, you and I."

Sherlock shook his head.

"We are not the same. I have way more followers on Twitter."

Moriarty clapped his hands.

"Splendid. But sadly we're running out of alone time, and I didn't spent six-pounds-fifty on a bottle of lube for nothing."

He unbuttoned his shirt, and Sherlock's eyebrows shot up; for a man who never did his own dirty work, James was _ripped_. The shirt was thrown into the corner, and the trousers soon followed. Sherlock laughed.

"You had to wear _those_ boxers, didn't you?"

James nodded.

"Sentimental reasons. I was wearing these the first time we met. Now come on; let's see what you're made of."

Sherlock stood up, smirking.

"Sugar and spice and all things nice."

James almost flew across the room and knocked Sherlock to the ground, kissing him hard, and the consulting detective fought back in kind.


End file.
